


the four-letter word

by FireLorde



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M, if you wanted sad stuff here, let's all cry together, massive warning for sexual assault, mostly mcpriceley, side Arnaba
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:05:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8826022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireLorde/pseuds/FireLorde
Summary: It could happen to anyone. Anywhere. Anytime. Kevin thought it would never happen to him.**HIATUS**





	1. aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> hey kids!! please read this before you start up. there's a warning for emeto/throwing up in the first chapter so read carefully if that freaks you out. again, this is probably not a good fic to read if you aren't a fan of reading through sad stuff and noncon flashbacks. with that, happy (sad??) reading!

The moment Kevin shakily pulls the car door shut is the moment he feels safest all night. His body falters at his key going into the slot, and the engine starting up startles him. Tears are falling from his eyes, but he’s only sniffling softly, his mind not fully registering what happened to him not thirty minutes ago.  
There are bruises on his arms and his back is killing him; his voice is completely shot and raggedy.  
What will my mom say? I look like hell.  
The most sickly, insincere smile makes its way onto Kevin’s face, and his muscles are mocking him in that moment.  
“Ha.”  
Kevin’s voice crackles with that single sound, and he shakes his head, slamming it onto the steering wheel with a surprising force, yet he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t blink as the car horn screams louder than the party to his right, drowning out the drunk girl vomiting all over creation, the boy blowing on a vuvuzela-esque plastic trumpet, and the kids chanting “chug” in the backyard.  
He stays there for a good minute, the horn almost relaxing him, because as far as Kevin Price knows, the only sounds he can remember from tonight are from his own mouth. After that, he straightens up, wincing sharply at the pain in his lower half, frees himself from between too cars, and slams the gas.  
Time to get away from there.  
That goddamn place is hurting him more than his stomach, more than the bile currently rising in his throat, and Kevin’s started audibly sobbing, he needs to pull over, and he does, his heart pounding as he stumbles out of the car, and with a little hack, he throws up all over the curb. This is the first time he’s thrown up in five whole years. Kevin has no idea what caused it– anxiety, drinks, probably both. All he knows is he can’t get that sickening acidic taste out of his mouth, and if he stays much longer, the pungent smell of his stomach contents will make him repeat the whole process again, and god, Kevin really doesn’t want to throw up again. To him, it’s the most disgusting feeling in the world. Thankfully, a pack of mint gum waits for him in his glove box– shoutout to Trident Winterfresh– and he unwraps and throws two pieces into his mouth, chewing them quickly. Sure enough, the strength of the almost sweet mint in that gum replaces the taste of vomit, and Kevin’s back on the road, gripping the steering wheel as hard as he can.  
It’s hard to drive when your eyes are welled up with tears.  
Kevin almost crashes three times, practically swerving into a tree on his way home. He stops the car and sobs again, mentally berating himself for being so careless. In reality, it’s not his fault. Kevin isn’t at his A-game at all. His A-game is lying dead in a gutter at the present moment, shot directly in the heart. Upon turning (slowly) onto his street, Kevin looks at the lawn ornaments of his neighbors, letting out a broken sigh.  
I wish I were an inanimate object. I wouldn’t have ever been stupid enough to put myself in this situation.  
Using the car door as balance, Kevin stumbles out, grabbing his wallet rather weakly and shutting (and locking) the door. He can barely walk without sobbing in pain, his eyes are bright red and brimming with tears, and his legs falter as soon as he reaches the door. It’s 2:33 AM.   
No one will be up, I’ll be okay to just slip in, but– Mom. No, no, no, no, no, no. She can’t see me like this, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t. No, no, not like this.  
Gathering the slivers of shards of pride he still has, Kevin struggles to get up, opening the door with a squeak and stumbling inside.  
“Kevin, honey, you were out late. Did you have fun?”  
Kevin’s mom is holding her son in a warm, gentle hug, and she knows nothing about what happened to her sweet boy, because the shell-shockedness and the tears have stopped. His expression is completely neutral, and when he pulls out of the hug, he only sniffs quietly, the corners of his eyes crinkling up into a fake yet convincing smile.  
“Yeah, Arnold threw a fun one. His girlfriend’s good, too, and I… Wow, I’m tired, Mom, I really should head off to bed. I– I missed a step on my way out the door, can you help me up the stairs?”  
When Kevin wants to be a convincing liar, he is a convincing liar. And Mrs. Price has no idea at all.  
“Of course, snuggly Kev. Anything for my sweet boy.”  
Beverly Price is helping her son walk up stairs now, her son that’s somehow buried all his emotion under smiles and occasional cries of pain. She’s opening his door for him, setting him down on his bed, and raising an eyebrow at the “no, no, Mom, I can do it, please, please don’t touch me, I can get changed myself” coming from her boy.  
“Sweet dreams, honey. I love you.”  
She’s treading on thin ice as she kisses Kevin’s forehead, and that elicits a very sharp jump from Kev.  
“Goodnight, Mom. See you tomorrow.”  
As soon as the door closes, the facade of tired-yet-calmness melts away and a half-naked Kevin is sobbing, shakily tugging his pants off and crying like a child, reaching for a pair of pajama pants in a flash, and swaddling himself in several layers of blankets.  
Go to bed, Kevin, sleep, it’s okay, you’re home, your mom’s a room over, she’s not gonna let anything happen to you. You’re fine.  
Kevin wants to scream because he is not fine and his pain is flaring up and he spits his gum out only for it to land back in his face and he completely loses it over that one thing, screaming out sobs into his pillow because he fucked up and it was his fault. Every dark shadow and every fairy light in his room is closing in on him because the shadows are going to pin him down and the lights are eyes and Kevin is going to be sick again, but he can't, he can’t, and he turns into his pillow, breathing in the scent of his peach shampoo.  
The soft peachiness eventually lulls him to sleep, and he dreams of a beach house that has a nice view of the ocean, but that soon changes to a place where he’s not safe anymore. A place he thought would bring good memories.  
His best friend’s bedroom.


	2. the morning after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from here on out, i'm going to give specific warnings for each chapter!!  
> this chapter isn't too heavy, but there's a bit of kevin blaming himself for what happened in the beginning.

Showers are never fun at 4 in the morning, but Kevin can’t sleep. All he can think about is how stupid he was, how wrong he felt, and how strange the world around him was after this truly rude awakening. Why was he uncomfortable? He shouldn’t feel uncomfortable, he’s supposed to like sex and like how it feels. According to others’ perceptions, he’s supposed to be a pretty boy, a doll, a perfect, pure boy turned arm candy for some other, stronger, taller man. He’s supposed to like being treated like a sex doll.  
And as this realization hits him, Kevin just knows he can’t win. Like a snail retreating into its shell, Kevin crumples on the shower floor, tears mingling with the cold water rushing over his body. Kevin can’t win.  
After his freezing shower, Kevin doesn’t go to sleep. He doesn’t touch his phone. He’s lying on his bed naked and clutching a towel and a bedsheet over his body, breaths heaving every so often.  
_There are six other people in this house, God forbid you wake any one of them up. Crybaby._  
_Stupid coward. Why didn’t you do anything? Why can’t you ever do anything?_  
_You liked it._  
The last thought is the loudest, and all of Kevin’s emotions are rushing back.  
_No, no, no. Not now, not now, please._  
His breathing grows ragged and his eyes are wide, the tears streaming down his cheeks are endless. This is dying, and Kevin is ready. He’s ready for his heart to give up, his lungs to fail, his soul to stop hoping. And with the few breaths he has left, Kevin is out, only to wake to the sound of birds chirping and the sun shining onto his sheets.  
The world wants to erase any trace of what happened the previous night. Kevin sees it as a mockery.  
11:52am.  
“Kevin, sweetie? Are you up?”  
Beverly Price’s soft voice rings out to wake her son, and Kevin lazily blinks, wincing in pain as he tries to get up.  
“Yep, I’m up, Mom. Good morning.”  
Before Kevin can react, his mother has him wrapped in a bear hug (even though she is a very small woman), and she’s kissing his head and ruffling his hair affectionately.  
“Oh, Kevvy, I hope you’re okay from last night. It seems like you really took a tumble there, angel! Do you think you bruised your tailbone?” Mrs. Price gently takes Kevin’s hands, pausing her fussing as she sees the green-black markings on his arms. She raises an eyebrow, catching onto the fact that Kevin is lying-- and Kevin’s big, tear-welled blue eyes confirm her suspicions.  
“Mom, please, it’s okay,” Kevin starts, but Beverly shushes her little boy, sitting down on his bed. She combs back a few strands of flyaway blonde hair before resuming her Concerned Mom Stare, keeping a firm (but not too firm) hold on her son’s hands.  
“It’s not okay, sweetie, your arms are all scuffed up. _Please_ tell me what happened, Kev. And don’t lie to me. I’m only here to help you. I love you, I’m your mom. That’s kind of my job here.”  
Kevin sighs, shutting his teary eyes, and buries himself in his mother, sniffling. He holds her tight, feeling so _weak_ and _small_ and _helpless_ all at once, and the tear-spot on the green cardigan his mother is wearing only gets larger.  
“Oh, Kevvy, sweetheart, I’ve got you. You’re safe, whatever happened to you last night is gone. It’s all over and I’m here for you.”  
_I’m here for you._  
That’s what Arnold had said to Kevin’s face, verbatim, not a week before his huge homecoming party. Where was Arnold in Kevin’s hour of need? Where the hell was he when Kevin’s entire body went limp after one drink of Pepsi?  
The only thing Kevin could do now was sob and hold onto his mother-- this went on for about ten minutes before Beverly magically procured a small water bottle.  
“Here, Kevvy, drink up. You’ll get dehydrated from all that crying.”  
Kevin drank- tentatively- God knows what happened the last time he drank something offered by a stranger.  
“Do you want to tell me what happened, sweetheart?”  
Nodding, Kevin pulls back, starting to wipe his eyes on the blankets of his bed, but he’s stopped by his mother handing him a tissue. She pats his back, rubbing over one of his shoulders, and Kevin feels a stinging pain passing over his skin.  
“I went to a party, and I… I passed out a bit, and I woke up later, I don’t know how much later, but all I know I was…. I… I’d been…. I…. I was r-” Stopping, Kevin debated whether to tell the truth or use all of his lying power in that nanosecond he had.  
“I was roughed around. Beat up. These guys, they were tall and muscular and they thought it’d be funny to beat me up because I’m a skinny, helpless little white boy.”  
Beverly stays silent for a moment, processing the information. She shuts her eyes, breathes deeply, and stands, passing Kevin a shirt.  
“Kev, we’re going to the hospital.”  
Kevin’s world shatters, and he starts to shake his head-- slowly at first, then quickly, mouth hanging open in an “O” shape.  
“No, Mom, it’s okay, I’m gonna be fine-”  
“Kevin James Michael Price, you have a gash on your back. It could be infected, or it might even need stitches. This isn’t an option, Kev, _we’re going_.”  
Feeling his stomach twist, Kevin clenches his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut.  
“Please, Mom, don’t make me. We’ll just cover it up with a bandage and put some ointment on it and-”  
“Kevin.”  
Beverly’s voice is commanding, controlling, and still sort of sweet. She helps Kevin to his feet and shakes her head, assisting him in putting on an old t-shirt.  
“Kayla? Come in here!”  
Seconds later, a blonde girl with blue eyes– Kevin’s sister– pops her head in, very much awake.  
“Hi, Mom. Hey, Kevin. What's up?”  
“Kayla, honey, can you get a bandaid from the bathroom for me? Kevin fell and scraped himself on a sharp rock last night and he’s got a big gash on his back.”  
Kayla nods and returns a moment later with a large rectangular bandage, handing it to her mother and casting an almost pitying look over to Kevin.  
“Hope you’re okay, Kev.”  
From somewhere unknown, Bev conjures up a tube of ointment and squeezes some onto the deep red cut. Kevin winces and lets out a whimper of pain, grabbing his pillow.  
“Mom, ow.”  
“I know, sweetie, I know. We can’t afford to let this get infected, Kevvy.”  
Beverly gently pats the bandage onto Kevin’s shoulder, kissing the brown fabric better like Kevin is a small child. Kevin doesn’t groan or protest-- he’s always been a “mama’s boy”.  
“Thanks, Mom,” he smiles, and quickly pulls his shirt back down, keeping his arms around his body. He’s still not too keen on being exposed, even to his family, and he curls his knees up to his chest.  
“Can I go back to bed now? Pleeeease, Mom?”  
Sighing deeply, Mrs. Price shakes her head and helps Kevin to his feet. “Up we go, sweetheart. You can nap after we get that scrape fixed up.”  
Kevin scrunches up his face and lets a whiny sob out, letting his mother drag him downstairs and into the car. He knows what’s going to happen.  
He knows the doctors and nurses are going to wonder how he got the gash.  
He knows he can’t keep using the falling story again and again.  
He knows he’s going to have to tell his mother what really happened the previous night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to try and update this less sporadically from here on out.


	3. bystander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which connor rethinks a certain someone's appearance at a certain house party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing graphic here. the chapter after this one will include flashbacks, though! be advised.

“You’ve been awfully quiet.”  
In the heat of the day, two boys lay partially naked on a half-made bed, lazily spooning each other.  
“Everything okay, Con?”  
The fan tosses back and forth on the ceiling, humming quietly. From a half-open window, Connor can see his backyard, filled with vibrant flowers and plants he’d put down the previous day.  
“I’m okay, Chris. Everything’s under control,” Connor yawned, sweeping back a few dewy strands of red hair. The small marks dotting his neck and chest tingle, though they were made at least a half hour ago. With glassy eyes, Connor looks over at Chris– admiring his tawny-gold hair as it lays oddly across his forehead. Christopher Thomas’ hair recedes in an almost endearing way, truly showcasing what an old soul he is. Perhaps Connor is dating him because of _that_.  
“D’you remember Kevin?”  
Blinking, Chris bit his lip, racking his brain. Which Kevin? Kevin Alan, Kevin From The Gas Station, Kevin Blake, Kevin From Arn’s Party, Kevin From The Store….  
“Uh, which Kevin? I know about six.”  
“Kevin from that party. The one who got really wasted and almost fell out the door.”  
“Oh, yeah. What about him?”  
“I’m just wondering if he’s alright.”  
Confused didn’t even begin to describe the look on Chris’ face.  
“Oh. Didn’t you just meet him at the party? Nowhere else? You’re virtually strangers, but… It’s nice of you to be that considerate. He did look a bit ruffled.”  
Strangely, the blonde closes his eyes and curls up into Connor’s bare chest. Usually Connor is the one curled up into Christopher’s chest, but not now. Feeling a hand lazily tracing his lightly freckled abdomen, Connor feels the hairs on his neck prick up.  
“He did. Apparently he’s really close with Naba and Arnold, so… I guess a friend of theirs is a friend of mine? I don’t know, Chris, I don’t know, I just thought something was completely off about him when he left.”  
“He must’ve been beaten up.”  
“He did have a black eye.”  
Connor’s mouth opened in an “o” shape– he had an idea; the lightbulb above his head was almost real.  
“We can ask Arnold. I’m sure he’ll know.”  
“Yeah,” Chris mumbled, stretching his hand out and kissing up the crook of Connor’s arm, “but later. You really tired me out, you know. Let’s rest, babe.”

“What do you mean by “we’re going to run a rape kit”? My baby is honest, he’d tell me if anything like that happened to him. He’s a good boy, he was safe, I– I didn’t even know he was gay–”  
“I understand, ma’am. He’s consented to having the kit done, though, and you can sort everything out after he’s finished.”  
“How long will it be? Kevvy must be so scared, he’s all alone… Are you sure I can’t see him?”  
Tapping the counter with a nail nervously, Beverly’s face is a mixture of confusion, distress, and mourning. She sniffs her nose a few times, feeling a few tears well up in her eyes. The nurse opposite her, wearing a nametag that says ELISE, glances in her direction, absentmindedly flicking a strand of ponytail to the back after it falls into her face.  
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Price. The procedure can last anywhere from three to twelve hours, depending on what the nurses find.”  
_Twelve hours_?  
“Name and birth date?”  
“Kevin James Michael Price. December 21, 1992.”  
“Alright, Kevin.”  
The nurse introduces herself as Andrea, keeping a soft tone throughout explaining the process.  
“The moment I open this, there’s no going back,” Andrea begins, thumbing the box’s seal with anticipation.  
Taking a deep breath, Kevin nods, feeling the warning chills of sobs start to rack his body. What would he say if he was his sister, Kayla? Jack? Even Evan, the youngest of the Prices?  
“I’m sure I want it,” Kevin speaks hoarsely, choking on a voice crack.  
Andrea breaks the seal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hooray for less sporadic fic updates!!! kudos are greatly appreciated and comments are always looked at with love!  
> my tumble is liferuiner63 if any of you want that information

**Author's Note:**

> im gonna try to update weekly but it depends on how my creative juices run. if you liked it (or felt sad), don't be afraid to give it a kudos!!!


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